


Twilight Rewrite

by OddityOdyssey



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Autistic Edward Cullen, Autistic Jessica Stanley, Renée ended up super abusive, Rewrite, honestly just assume everyone is autistic unless stated otherwise, whoopsie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddityOdyssey/pseuds/OddityOdyssey
Summary: Just the title...I had WAY too much fun with this.
Relationships: Jacob Black/Edward Cullen, Jessica Stanley/Bella Swan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Twilight Rewrite

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite sweater, a ratty old dark grey thing with “MOTHMAN CAN EAT MY ASS’ in bold on the front. My mother hated that sweater more than life itself; it was a constant reminder that her child was a failure.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State (thanks Wikipedia), a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this godforsaken town more than any other place in the United States of America. No joke, this town is like if stubbing your toe was a place. When I was born, my parents got into world’s biggest custody battle, with my mother getting me 24/7 with the exception of July and August. Till I was fourteen, I was dragged kicking and screaming to Forks. Freshman year was when I bribed my dad with fifty bucks for him to take me anywhere else; so, these past two summers, we vacationed in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror, as I freaking detested that town. Leaving Phoenix with its constant warmth like a mother’s embrace (maybe mom hugs are cold, my mother would rather swallow nails than show affection), and that probably illegal shop that sold hot dogs for fifty cents, behind. But we’ll get into why I gave up illegal hot dogs later.

"Isabella," my mother said to me, for the millionth time that car ride, "You don't have to do this."

How wrong she was. You see, my mother remarried (multiple times), her latest catch was a some dude named Phil, who had two successful daughters around my age and a shit-ton of cash; right up her alley. She had married into the perfect family, and they were headed to Florida to live in a mansion and eat lobster like rich people do. That perfect family had no room for me, and I knew I’d just be torturing everyone, including myself, if I stayed. Since I was a minor, the only option was to go with my dad, and mother dearest didn’t mind one bit.

"I’m going to miss you," I lied. I’m pretty sure she believed me, I had practiced that line a gazillion times in the mirror the night before.

"Goodbye, Isabella"

"I love you"

"I…" she hesitated, straining to say the next words "Love you too."

Press X to doubt.

She avoided my gaze as I scrambled out of the car, the second my feet hit the asphalt, she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't really bother me; the hour in the car with my dad, though, I was a little worried about.

It’s not like I hate him or anything, I genuinely love my dad, but there’s like this thick sheet of glass between us, and both of us stopped trying to break it a long time ago. I remember my earliest memory with him, I had bounded out of my mom’s expensive BMW and jumped into his arms screaming “daddy!!!”, my mom’s cold voice cut through the air as she corrected me, “Charlie”. I did it anyway, no matter how many times she’d yell at me to stop. I stopped eventually; after my dad calmly kneeled down and whispered in my ear that I needed to call him Charlie too.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Dad was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. My dad is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Dad gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Fine. It's good to see you, too, Charlie."

“I like your sweater kiddo”

“Thanks.”

I had only a few bags. The overwhelming majority of my clothes weren’t fit for Washington. Mom wasn’t planning on lending me any money, so I had to sell a lot of my stuff to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily intothe trunk of the cruiser.

The car ride was probably the most awkward thing I ever experienced in my life. My dad smelled of alcohol (it was no secret that he drank) and neither of us knew what to say. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother before me, I had not told him about the situation with mom, all he knew was that I hated Forks.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," he announced, smashing the silence like it was the fourth wall.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the reservation on the coast.

"No?"

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," dad prompted.

I felt a pang of guilt. I had no idea who Billy was.

"He's in a wheelchair now," dad continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"How old is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

I wasn’t giving up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Charlie, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Dad peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Charlie. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. It felt as though he wanted to continue, to tell me how glad he was that I was finally here, but he didn’t.

"That's really nice, Charlie. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth —or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. It was too green — an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to his place. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

“You could kill a man with this thing” I whispered as I gazed at it’s gargantuan form.

“What did you say kiddo?”

“I love it, D- Charlie.”

"I'm glad you like it," Dad said, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard.

The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a second hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. I definitely didn’t need the phone, I had a cell, but it added to the aesthetic so I didn’t complain. An old raggedy “Nessie” plush rested on the old dresser, it’s remaining button eye looking straight at me.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with dad.

I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about dad is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother, who always had something to correct. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan, sporty, blond — a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was paler than some poor unroasted marshmallow, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I wasn’t petite either, never being anything but the fat kid. My mom put me on my first diet when I was six, but I was never skinny, no matter how hard I tried… Pretty sure she hated me for that.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. Not that anyone would notice, if anything, they’d look at the acne which never seemed to disappear.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. Besides, if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Obviously I had online friends and groups I were a part of, but in real life? I was completely and utterly alone… Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But, the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. Tomorrow would be just be another day to add to sixteen years of loneliness.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with dad was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me like civilized people avoid light mode on discord. Dad left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family... (No judgment, I’d throw myself into my work if I were him too) After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three un-matching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor.

Nothing was changed. Apparently, mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First, a wedding picture of dad and my mother in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what Icould do to get dad to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

It was horribly depressing, being in this house, knowing all too well that dad had never gotten over my mother. I honestly didn’t know how else to feel about it; it was just sad.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or dad had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's bitchy ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My stained black hoodie didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. Both were skinny and short. God, did I wish that were me.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name — not an encouraging response — and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. I debated calling my mother to send some of my old assignments, which I could just copy paste, while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems (bro, same) and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way…" Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," I told him.

"You don't look very tan."

"My mother is part albino."

He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix.

A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm.

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together."

He sounded hopeful.

I smiled at him and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, whose class I would have hated anyway just because math sucks, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch.

She was tiny, at least six inches shorter than my five foot seven (and that’s being generous), but her kinky dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I think her name was Jessica, I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes, but it was like keeping up with a chipmunk on heroin.

We sat in a cranny I didn’t even realize was there, obscured by trash cans, in a makeshift fort of some kind. Jessica’s name was scrawled into the wall. Different (clearly cheap) pillows and blankets were piled on the probably dirty floor. The boy from English, Eric, was sitting across the room, I waved at him but he didn’t wave back. Jessica laughed.

“Don’t take it personally, no one can see us here,” Jessica said, settling in, “but, we can see everyone else! I swear, this is the best spot on the whole campus”

Air fresheners were taped on all the walls, and a note reading “need fairy lights” was plastered in bold letters was plastered on one. As Jessica ate, I observed my surroundings; she was right, you could see literally the entire room. That’s when I saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room.

There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big — muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blond. The last was lanky, with a face mask and gloves, untidy, bronze-colored hair obscured his eyes. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

The girls both shared the same hair colour, as black as the coffee of an overworked suburban mom, but aside from that they were complete opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was unreasonably long (no shade), gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixie-like, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was cropped short and pointing in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Each of their skin tones, despite the range in shade, were ashy; almost grey! They all had very dark eyes, with dark shadows — purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were sharp, perfect, almost angular. But all this is not why I couldn't look away. I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine, or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful — maybe the tall girl, whose deep brown skin almost seemed gold, or the bronze-haired boy who was currently spraying the table with lord knows what.

They were all looking away — away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray — unopened soda, unbitten apple — and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are they?" I whispered to Jessica under my breath.

As she looked up to see who I meant — though already knowing, probably, from my tone. Suddenly he looked at her, the weird(er) one, the twiggy one, the youngest, probably. He looked at Jessica for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to mine.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest — it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

Jessica looked at him, then me, in shock, speechless. I looked back.

“No one can see us?” I teased

"Ok, not everyone, but they’re different! That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She took a deep breath before continuing, “they don’t count because they’re vampires!

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with what I’m pretty sure was a stolen surgical knife. I couldn’t read his face, as it was completely obscured. I made a mental note that there were two freaks in this school so far; this Edward kid who couldn’t be more eccentric if he tried, and the crazy girl sitting right next to me.

"Vampires?”

"Yes!" Jessica practically yelled, grabbing me by the shoulders, "it may sound crazy but I have proof!" She began frantically digging through the pillows. _She’s gonna kill me, isn’t she?_

"Please tell me you’re joking.” I deadpanned

"I don’t get sarcasm, so no. Just trust me, ok? I think I found my notes!”

"Are you going to kill me?"

“Also no. oh, here it is!” Jessica brandished a ridiculously overfilled folder (papers were literally falling out)

“Do you have friends?”

“Rude, but also-also no.”

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They were weird sure, but vampires? As Jessica kept repeating: No.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. “Is this some urban legend that I somehow missed?”

"No," she said for the millionth time. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer. You look me dead in my eyes that you wouldn’t have done the same! I mean, well, I guess you probably would believe her considering this whole situation, but it was super weird to me!

“I am so sorry” I wheezed, not really meaning it, “it’s just that- you really- oh my- what are you smoking!?” I was crying at this point.

“Are you always this much of an asshole?” She asked, looking suddenly downcast.

Regret washed over me. Sure, her theory was unbelievably stupid but she was genuinely trying to be my friend. I remembered when I made theories like that too and my own mother told me “stop acting like a fool”, and how it stung.

“Yeah… Sorry about that,” I kinda meant it this time, “it’s just that you have no evidence! Besides, I’m a woman of science.”

“I was about to show you the evidence, but…” She suddenly perked up, an unreadable twinkle in her eye, “as a woman of science you probably learn better first hand!”

_Oh my god, she is going to kill me._

Jessica grabbed my hand and, with surprising strength, hoisted me up and out of the hideout. She led me straight to their table, and immediately demanded everyone there to open their mouths. Jessica was met by a chorus of no’s and the bulky guy opening as wide as he could.

“See? Fangs.”

“An I hut I ow-th hease”

A chorus of face palms replaced the no’s, with a single murmur of “Emmett you stupid fuck.”

“All you’ve proven to me is that this guy is a goth with too much time on his hands” I said, smirking.

“I think I’m going to nickname you bitch.”

I bit my lip to hide my smile, and fake pouted. “Bitch” was a good nickname. Jessica led me back to the fort, shaking her head.

“Who hurt you anyway?” She asked, rolling her eyes.

“Society.” I answered, although that wasn’t exactly the truth.

When I was five and lost my first tooth, I asked my mother to help me write a letter to the tooth fairy, to thank her for bringing money to all my friends! My mother looked me straight in the eye and said,

“The tooth fairy isn’t real. Grow up.”

I remember my lip quivering and asking her to tell me what else wasn’t real; vampires were among the list. Now that I’m older, I think I know why she said all of that, perhaps it was to raise me so that I would grow up smart; but the more likely reason was to avoid giving me money, getting me presents, setting up Easter bunny hunts, and comforting me when I got scared of everything that went bump in the night.

But everyone else eventually grew to realize that those were just stories, some earlier than others; like my kindergarten class. The next day I had announced my findings to my friends, and told them who wasn’t real and why. So many kids cried, and I think that was the event that marked me as a social outcast. The teacher called my mother and all she had to say was,

“Isabella has always been, and always will be a problem child.” As mother dearest leaned in conspiratorially, she whispered “I think she just enjoys making people miserable.”

Back in the present, me and Jessica sat in silence. She hadn’t kicked me out yet, but I probably had ruined all chances of a friendship with her. Maybe I did enjoy making people miserable.

Once the bell finally rang, I got out of the hideout and got to biology as quickly as possible (alone). All the black top lab tables had a pair with them except one... The one where the neurotic not-vampire stood. I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed. Just as I passed, neurotic not-vampire suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again through his bush of hair, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face — it was hostile, almost frightful. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table.

The girl sitting there giggled.

I'd noticed that his eyes were black — coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my hair. It smelled like strawberries, the scent of my favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I let my hair fall over my right shoulder, making a dark curtain between us, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately, the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, you could somehow see the tendons despite the fact that he was wearing gloves. This, too, he never relaxed. He was much taller, but still just as scrawny, up close.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I felt yet another wave of regret of how rude I was to judge Jessica at lunch today at lunch today. Maybe she was odd sure, but not a dick like this guy.

I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of repulsion. I noped away from him, shrinking against my chair, and trying to see if I had BO or something as subtly as I could.

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump, and asshole not-vampire was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose — he was so freaking gangly — his back to me, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. I didn’t have BO. Was everyone like this? Did I seriously just ruin my first chance at a friend since I told my kindergarten class that the tooth fairy wasn’t real? I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the awful feeling that filled me, for fear my eyes would tear up. I wasn’t sad or anything, I swear I was just…

Ok, maybe I was a little sad.

"Aren't you Isabella Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Bella," I corrected him, with a half-hearted smile.

"I'm Mike."

"Hi, Mike."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

We walked to class together; he was a chatterer — he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun. It turned out he was in my English class also. Maybe I could get an actual friend!

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

 _Nevermind_.

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yes," he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded. "I never spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at him, and shot some finger guns, before walking through the girls' locker room door. He was friendly and clearly flirting.

Not a friend, but at least someone thinks I’m not completely ugly! (Or maybe he liked girls who looked like pugs)

The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform that completely exposed my legs that I somehow forgot to shave. At home, only two years of RE. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally my personal hell on Earth.

I watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained— and inflicted — playing volleyball, I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself.

When I walked into the warm office, I almost turned around and walked back out.

Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

He was arguing with her in a low, surprisingly attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. It was something about biology…

I felt my anger bubble, was this seriously about me? It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me — his face was absurdly handsome — despite literally all of his features looking like they belonged on a homeless schizophrenic. I stuck my tongue at him (what? I was allowed to be childish too). He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out the door.

I need you to know how much restraint it took for me not to flip him off. But instead, I used my hands to hand her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Great," I lied, adding a thumbs up for emphasis. She didn't look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. Just as I began to drive I saw Jessica out of the corner of my eye, walking home alone.

I headed back to the house, fighting tears the whole way there.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story consider https://mthg.org/get-involved/


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